The Orbit of an Icy Sun
by Mrs Hudson
Summary: A OC caused Loki's dramatic reaction in Thor, due to events that we didn't see in the movie. Loki-central take on Thor. Slight Loki/OC. Not self-insertion!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hello, dear reader, I'm glad you picked this fiction to read. I'm following Movie-verse Thor, with a little original legends mix in. There are no great changes to the plot. This story will tell Thor from a different angle, some scenes you didn't see, and some you did, but shown in a different light. And who provides this new insight? A snarky shieldmaiden with flighty tendencies, a penchant for fire and a sneaky streak a mile wide. Without further ado, I give you the trial chapter of 'The Orbit of an Icy Sun'.

* * *

The whole of Asgard was full of life, reams of material snaking between servants, warriors carrying whole deer on their shoulders, even an ox or fifty were seen being bought to the kitchen. Every surface shined that bit brighter and the cellars of the place were overflowing with mead and wine. Every inn was full and still more travelers arrived. Amongst them, farmers, Lords, Ladies and blacksmiths alike, all chatting together and helping one another. No one could slack when the kingdom was preparing for so grand a celebration.

But in the palace gardens, the stables and the training grounds, everything was much the same. Any preparations here had been done months in advance, the place looking more beautiful than any mortal would believe possible. The standard of detail was the same in every crevice of the citadel, in preparation for the coronation of Thor. The only exception being the central training ground. That was ever changing with every practise and even the Allfather himself couldn't keep up with the mess created by the sparing that occurred in that small, confined arena.

At that moment, a huge line of earth was gouged out of the tightly packed dirt, ending in a pile a few feet across. In the mound, a slightly smoking, groaning lump was moving. Dust filled the air, mingling with the smoke, making it hard to see just what was going on. The air was as thick with dust as it was silence. The familiar sounds of clashing steel, the singing of cut air and yells of friendly fury had all halted. Every eye turned, anticipation clutching each thumping heart.

The lump rose, groaning still. It began to unfold like flower petals, slowly, with a peculiar grace. It moved stiffly, despite the delicacies of grace, into the shape of a warrior. The mud that caked the figure started to crumble, falling off the now obvious, but somewhat dulled, shine of armour. Clods remaining in the long hair that was pulled tightly back, the reddish earth wedged tightly in between the plates and joins of the armour. The previously unmarred armour now had a slight dent and significant blackening to the chest plate.

On the far side of the dirt arena, a few feet from the start of the trail, a proud figure stood with arms crossed, weight shifted to his back foot and a single eyebrow raised. This was a rapid shift from the shocked position mere seconds early; hands by his sides, trembling, eyes wide with fear, flitting between his fallen opponent and his audience behind him, rocking and unsure. Should he dart forward, running to the aid of his opponent, or fall back for fear of admonishment at his over-zealous and unrestrained attack?  
Neither was necessary as the dirtied warrior shook herself down, wincing slightly at the shift of buckled steel over bruised muscle and cracked bone. What might have been a cough sounded like a wheezing bellows, the sound forced over cracked lips and fell slowly and heavy in the still silent arena. A series of short, barking coughs followed in rapid-fire, shoulders shaking as more mud rained down around her. The coughing merged into a rough laughter as forgiving blue eyes met fearful green. A slight nod of her head, accompanied by a playful smile, comforted the proud warrior; he fought well and had defeated her, yet she was free of lingering harm.

The wind picked up, and her hair whipped over her shoulder tickling her face. The laughter carried across the ring and all at once the four warriors that had acted as spectators to their fight rushed forward. Jabbering and jostling to reach her, they laughed merrily, all previous panic forgotten, while her opponent held back, wary in spite of her happy mood.

Volstagg spoke first; his great gut still swaying, though his frame had halted several seconds earlier. "Well matched and well met! I'll warrant a flagon of ale is needed after such a spectacle! I know an ale-house in the lower town that has the most wondrous pork-belly, an old maid that ensures your cup never runs dry and th-"

Fandral cut in, having hesitated in coming over and arrived slightly breathless. "I thought you'd finally thought it fit to visit Hela! What a shame it would have been to lose one of the finest shieldmaiden in the Nine Reale-**OW**! Sif, I-_One_ of the finest, _one_!"

Sif had approached more gracefully, with as much presence as any other, and had taken to beating Fandral round the head in a light-hearted, yet heavy-handed, manner at his second remark. She interjected her heated opinion with a backward glance to the still figure left behind in the dust. "Indeed, I thought perhaps Loki had finally done away with you."

Hogan had arrived with Fandral, but had maintained his usual silence. However an unusual half smile rested on his face, and stood from stooping and with a slight bow handed her the fallen wrist guard. The leather had snapped from the pull of dirt she has been forced through. A simple "My Lady." exited the mouth of the solemn man, and meant the realm times over to her.

Thor had stood chuckling deeply from his chest through this all, and reached forwards to brush the remaining larger clumps of mud from the woman stood before him. "I think we have all, Loki himself included, underestimated the force of this particular trick of Loki's. Indeed I believe he had done the impossible and rendered himself speechless! Where is your silver-tongue now?" Thor had turned to call back to Loki, but found himself talking to an empty space.

The others turned, seeing Thor's puzzlement, and in those brief seconds a heavy heat fell on the shoulder of the dusty warrior. **"I am truly sorry."** a voice whispered. She knew not to turn, not to react or draw attention to his…was it his presence? No, to his projection of voice. She was well-versed in his seemingly unfathomable behaviour. **"I had not tried that spell before and you are the only person I believed strong enough to withstand the potential power, and whom I trusted to test it upon." **She snorted at this. Trusted? Trusted enough to not tell her what he was planning. He picked up on this, his projection reacting accordingly. **"I did not think it would be **_**half**_** as powerful as it was." **Well, that was something. The burn was fading, her cheek feeling pink and a voice that she knew the others _could_ hear came from behind Volstagg's great mass.

"It is evident that it is not my tongue you should worry about, Thor. You are a little slower today, Lady Imera, are you not? I did not think I would hit you, but I see you've paid the price for your weaknesses. Perhaps another round tomorrow?" The ever impish voice of Loki seemed to originate from Volstagg's stomach but his horned helmet came into sight, as ever, before he did. His helmet, along with his armour dissolved in the familiar shimmer of magic, and he leaned jauntily against the crudely fashioned fence that penned in the grounds.

Imera, the warrior woman, chuckled. She knew she would suffer in the coming days, but she would be no worse for wear in the long run. This was not the first time one of the pair had miscalculated their power, or tried out a new spell. Though Imera usually warned Loki beforehand. Usually. While he gave the impression of nonchalance, she knew he was fretting about her reaction. His initial hesitation and the fact that he had projected his voice to her alone meant he was unsure. Even now she glanced at his face and caught him staring at her, at the damaged chest plate, scanning her body for any marred skin. When he realised she was looking at him he dropped his eye too fast for the action to be dismissed. His forehead was creased ever-so-slightly and the bones in his fingers pressed a little tighter, skin a little whiter.

The other warriors were not so observant and took offence on her behalf at his teasing words. Volstagg huffed, Hogan and Fandral stiffening, shifting to shield her slightly. Thor spoke up first.

"Come now brother, Imera is a great warrior and-"

"And you could have killed her!" The fiery Sif moved forward, gesticulating wildly. "You talk and talk, yet all you do is tricks! I would fight you here and now without your magic and kill you where you stand! Choose your weapon and fight, or else I shall-"

"Peace, Sif!" Lady Imera spoke up, quiet and rasping, before coughing hard, stopping Sif in her tracks. Imera bent double, lurching headfirst towards the ground.

Everyone moved to catch her, but a flash of green and black wove between them all, long fingers grasped her upper arm firmly, arm pressed across her chest while the other hand ghosted over her back, rubbing comfort into her tense shoulders. Kneeling beside her, he had moved without thought and now felt the burn of curious eyes upon his back.  
Loki's hand moved purposefully from her back once her breathing had eased and he helped her to her feet, allowing her to lean on him a while_._ He fixed his face into a neutral position, reeling in any apparent signs of concern._ Let them make of that what they will, he thought_, a spike of spite jolting through him as his eye flickered to the glaring Lady Sif who stood, still defensive.

"I think Loki may be right," Imera said. "I am best to continue tomorrow, after some rest. I wish you would enjoy the rest of the fine weather today." Imera pushed off gently from Loki's side and turned to walk away slowly.

"You will visit the healing bay, Imera? I wouldn't wish you to suffer any more than necessary. And I will bid the Royal Blacksmith to repair your armour this afternoon." Thor called after her, his sunny disposition slipping under the weight of his concern.

Imera turn to face the mis-matched band, walking backwards all the while. "I'm not so frail as you believe, Thor. In case your memory fails you, I have some impressive skills in healing." Her left eyebrow wrinkled up, the right arching down. The barely hidden smirk that stole onto Loki's face and the flush that claimed victory over Thor's suggested a story hidden in that comment, but the friends did well not to ask. "And I thank you, but are you sure the Blacksmith has workings with Elven armour? I have not travelled to Alfheim for a while and I have yet to collect a debt from a metal-worker there, I am sure he would be more than happy to help."

Volstagg spoke in Thor's stead, as Thor struggle to fight the pinkness in his tanned cheeks. "You would do well to visit Alfheim. I'm sure your blood sings for the lands. 'Tis a place that I do so love, the mead is like nothing you have ever tasted, light yet strong, though they drink it more sparingly than I. I might chance it to say that is why they are so svelte, much like yourself, little half-elf!"

"Not so little as to be beaten by the likes of you, Volstagg! She turned away, lightness in her voice. "My agility and skills make up for more than what I may lack of my adversary's muscle," Imera paused in her walking, throwing an assessing eye over her shoulder at him, catching his eye with a glint of playfulness in her own. "Or mass, as the case may be…Come with, if you will, to Alfheim. No? I shall acquire a barrel of mead for you in my travels. I wish you happy sparring and I shall take my leave."  
Imera turned finally, shoulders slumping with weariness, dragging herself on. She took note of her posture, and straightened. Looking about, she made a decision, and walked onward through the grounds, toward the central gardens.

* * *

**A/N: **So what did you think? I'd love to continue this, but I won't publish it here if there isn't the audience for it. Just let me know what your view is, what you like/dislike/would change. Please no nonconstructive (is that a word?) hate, but if you spot any mistakes please tell me. My grammar (I believe) is terrible and my spelling has been described as "a bit 'Winnie the Pooh'." I didn't bother getting a beta just for a trial chapter, but might look for one if people wish for me to continue.

Many thanks for reading and please review!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thanks for your reviews so far!

I'm working slowly on this and I don't have much time at the moment. I've applied for a couple of jobs and I'm trying to work out my future residence and income for the next year. It's a little stressful, but I do this in my spare time just to chill, have a bit of me time. I hope you enjoy!

**P.S.** I don't own any characters, bar Imera. I'm just borrowing them and their situation, much as Marvel did (from the Norse legends). I'm working with a bit of both, so if something doesn't fit Comic-verse or the original legend, feel free to tell me, but chances are I've re-imagined it to suit the story.

* * *

_**Last time:**__ Looking about, she [Imera] made a decision, and walked onward through the grounds, toward the central gardens_, hoping for an interval of peace to gather her thoughts enough to heal herself. She pulled at her over-stretched armour straps as she walked, barely focused on her movements. As each piece was loosened it started its decent to the floor, flickering out existence before the collision, vanished to a chamber somewhere far across main palace, the anticipated clangs noticeably absent over her slapping footsteps.

She hadn't lied, she thought to herself. She wasn't too badly injured. Or at least, she'd had worse. A few ribs were cracked, and very bruised. That could be bound and started on the way to healing by even a simple village wise woman, with a salve and some bandages, but she was thankful, her magic would help greatly. She had landed on her neck and back, and slid along at an odd angle, her neck twisted and painful, back scratched and raw. This was more complex, the cuts bound to be plagued with debris, dirt and strand of cloth but not difficult to heal. Infection might be something to watch for and removing the cloth would hurt like anything.

She was more concerned at the pain she felt at the back of her head. It was as if someone had taken a chisel to her skull, a beat of pain with ever beat of her heart. However, the pain was dull and aching, with sharp pricking behind her eyes. No lump was forming under her hair, which was more troubling than one would think. Imera had received more than her fair share of concussions and knew that they were most unpleasant. As of yet, she knew of no way to heal them. It would also slow her healing magic, thus increasing the time for her to heal fully. She blinked double-time, trying to clear her eye sight. It was as if her own fiery magic had decided to give her a private show, dancing colours burned ephemerally. She ignored this, her focus honed in a well-practised manner.

She was so fully wrapped up in noting her every injury and planning her recuperation that Loki's approach was ignored completely. It wasn't until he strode ahead of her and stood a few feet forward in her path that she snapped out of her mental monologue. She drove forward into his shadow; head ducked to make sure of her footing; the top of her head met with his chin, face falling into his chest. They stumbled together, her arms trapped between them while his reached her sides to steady her. An awkward movement, a shifting, not dissimilar to the intimacies of a slow dance, had them righted on their feet, Loki's hands lingering on her longer than perhaps necessary.

They seared her skin, icy fire, magic flickering, following a path that had her gasping with cold, goosebumps prickling outward from the site. She shivered and burned all at once, shaking herself when she caught her own slip. This was nothing new to her, she knew Loki's magic also as she knew her own. It bubbled, surged, hid, grew and played inside him. It recognised people and other magic. It also, as it had shown Imera often, liked to greet all others that it met.  
It was easy to forget that one's magic had some elements that were uncontrollable, that your body acted as a meagre channel for the immense potential.

When learning magic, all the books talk of control and managing it, as if it were a burden in any other form than caged and forced. Imera liked to let her magic flow freely as often as possible, acting **with** it, using instincts that without it she would not have. As a result she came to non-verbal agreement of sorts with her magic that allowed for spells and enchantment previously unknown, with great resources of power. Of course, on occasion, this friendship, as every friendship does, had rough patches. In these times, all of Asgard feared Imera. Bursts of magic of type most mysterious flew from her hands, Imera jumping, startled every time. After the initial shock wore off she would run off fuming, seemingly at herself. However recently she had tried hard to reach truces with her magic. It wasn't easy.

Loki was looking at her, concerned. She had drifted off into her own thoughts, paying no heed to Loki's thoughts or words. Clearly he was expecting an answer, but she hadn't heard the question! She blinked, avoiding his gaze. Pride got the best of her and she resolved not to as for a repeat of the question. Her left hand travelled up her right arm, squeezing at the top, pulling, massaging the sore joint. She was buying time, but she had to answer quickly so as not to raise suspicion. Something that wouldn't agree or disagree, she'd fallen for that too many times before. Vague enough that he would not notice her slip…

"Be assured, you need not worry." This seemed to please Loki and she let herself relax a little, but his eyes told stories his lips would not; stories of childish mischief that she had long been the subject of.

Loki straightened and features sharped slightly, a degree fiercer than before, the glint brighter, more hungry, a hunter ready to pounce on easy prey. "Excellent! Congratulations! I shall tell Father of the impending nuptials and preparations shall begin at once! It will occur after the coronation, I think. Spirits will still be high and the weather will be fine in [**Svarteheim**]. I expect that you can organise your own gown?"

Imera's eyes had grown wider throughout this speech but she had held her tongue until she could no longer. "What? I, I-I-err, _what_?"

"Your marriage to Dhjork in payment of a debt I have long owed. He had asked for the hand of the fairest of woman on Asgard and you just accepted, did you not?"

"No, I didn't-I wasn't, I wasn't listening! I'm sorry Loki, I just, y-you…did you imply I was the fairest in Asgard?"

Loki's eyebrows pulled together, the bridge of his nose wrinkling. "No! I, well, I _did _but-"

"I'm not to be married off to this…Dhjork, am I? You wouldn't deprive Asgard of its_ fairest maiden_ would you?" She batted her eyelashes and tilted her heart, a honey-sweet expression on her face. A fleck of dust floated from her eyelash into her eye, ruining the effect when she started squinting, rubbing at her eye and swearing under her breath.

At this, Loki's rich laugh rang out; his head rolled back, the wrinkles shifting to rare laughter lines. It lifted a weight she didn't know was there from Imera's heart to hear that uplifting sound. Loki had been quieter lately, often colour flowing up his strong neck, tainting his pale cheeks during innocent conversation. He hung back from the group, more so than usual; spent long hours in the branches of trees, book in hand and magic swirling round him in irregular patterns. He took meals in his room, though Imera could tell he slept less than usual. He moved a little slower, took hits harder in sparring and ghosts of shadows fell under his eyes.

But when he laughed, genuinely laughed, his faint and distant glow that was ever present, like a star in the night sky, burst forth and he became the sun, burning bright. He lit up his surrounding, gave off a warmth that could melt the iciest of hearts and left one feeling happy and fresh the long day through.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but your mind had wondered, and I thought only to bring you back with a bump." Loki wiped a single tear from his eye, blinking and chuckling, shaking his as if to rid himself of the memory of her confused outburst.

Imera hummed out a reply, distracted by a new twinge across her lower ribs. A hand reached up to jab at the source of discomfort, trying to provoke a response. She couldn't help but put a little extra force on the sensitive spot, heightening the pain. She sighed at the relief that followed the release, the pain lessening, giving the false impression of healing. She was feeling woozy and knew it would be unwise to use a healing spell. Her body was less than perfect, her mind woolly with pain and most likely concussion. She thought to herself that even if she should try, her magic should know well enough that she could not successfully channel it in this state.

Loki moved forward when she reached for her side, her head dipped again. She gave him no indication as to how he could help, so he hovered awkwardly, hands out-reached. He looked smaller, a little ashamed.

"Imera, you have my deepest apologies. I meant you no harm and I deeply regret any injury caused. By all the stars, I am so sorry, I would…Don't laugh! You beastly Halfling, I was worried about you! I thought I'd have to beg your forgiveness, traveling the Nine Realms to gather tokens to prove my worthiness to you!"

"And what makes you think you won't? I should like a bridle embedded with emeralds from Alfheim, an ever-burning torch from Svarteheim, a humming bird from Midgard; are you getting this down?" Imera said, the smile in her voice barely covering the pull of her shuddering breath.

"Imera let me heal you. You are in no state to do it yourself, are too pig-headed to visit the healers and if Mother saw you in this state tomorrow she would punish me most terribly. I might have to dance with the Valkyries. You know, they are so strong that I often think I might snap in their arms!"

She slouched, admitting defeat. "We will to your rooms, then. Perhaps we may take a 'short cut'?" She had let the pain gnaw at her for too long, had not sat down and now unshed tears made her blue eyes shine.

"Oh but of course, we will away without hesitation, anything for you." _Smarmy git_, she thought. "Your hand, if I may, my Lady?" Loki could be charming if he so wished, but his charm was often employed to cover his pranks and ploys and sometime, as was the case now, used in pleasant banter, a sarcastic twist giving words new meaning.  
She knew this script well, and responded as she always did, perfectly on cue.

"I thank you, kind sir." She stretched her hand forward and he grasped it softly. Bowing slightly to press it to his lips, he glanced up into her eyes as locks of his black hair fell around his face, tickling her wrist. In half a blink of an eye, he was upright and bolting onward, pulling her like a dog behind him. They had taken but a few steps before a whooshing in her ears accompanied a well-known pricking all over her body. She felt herself being pulled apart and fading away, piece by aching piece.

* * *

**A/N: **Shout out to **Ayy Kaim**, the first reviewer! In answer to your review, I know that it's been used a lot, but I'm going for less of a change from the Loki we know and love, more of an explanation FOR the Loki we know and love. Imera is just a made up name, a blend of modern and Norse names. You are utterly correct about the armour, as the dwarves are known for their metal work. However, in original Norse legends, dwarves and black (read: dark) elves are considered one and the same, sharing some qualities with the light elves (most just called Elves) of Alfheim. As most of Snorri Sturluson's (actually his name!) stories of the elves were destroyed or lost, I've had to use artistic licence for a great part. Imera's armour is made by the elves with a combination of magic and their affinity to nature and the elements (including metal in the earth). I'd put that in as I was thinking of doing Imera's back story as another fic, so time in the (very) distant future.

I hope that this chapter has sated your appetite for a while, because I'm slowing up a little. Though this follows Thor very closely, my aim is to not use too many movie scenes. I'm trying to create scenes that explain characters on-screen actions/reactions, fill in the gaps if you will.  
Also, because I floated the first chapter to gauge interest in the idea, I'm looking for a beta! Just PM me and I'll get in touch. I've not used a beta before, so you'll have to explain things and be gentle with me!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I'd actually had most of this planned up to this point, so it's been going okay, but no guarantees! Anyway, Imera has been in my dreams, throwing pebbles at my head and telling me to "Hurry up and heal me already!"

So without further ado, Imera's healing.

_**Last time:**__ She felt herself being pulled apart and fading away, piece by aching piece. _It was always an odd feeling, traveling in such a manner. She was still walking, yet she wasn't. She had no substance and could see Loki's rooms before she feel her body reforming. Once her physicality returned, she fell forward, having been mid stride. Loki caught her yet again. This had occurred far too regularly today and Imera felt her image was soon to become one of a swooning maiden. That would not be acceptable.

Loki's rooms were light and airy, though they held a certain stuffiness that led her to believe the windows and shutters had been opened only minutes before. She could see through a door to her left that Loki had left his bed unmade.

As if he had read her mind the sheets tucked themselves in. The covers snaking up from pools on the floor to spread themselves on the bed, not a wrinkle in sight. Such innocent magic seemed frivolous compared to the blast that had landed her here.

She felt herself being pulled toward a chaise long, coming to the sudden understand that her hand had not yet been released from Loki's grip. Her mind was slowing, but something nagged. Shouldn't she pull away? Well, she was going to sit, whether guided by him or not and she didn't trust her legs not to try their own ideas. He helped her down to the seat, fingers trailing over her shoulder blades as he stepped back. She winced slightly as he caught on cloth, tugging on an oozing graze. He flinched at the sound, head ducking further.

She watching him travel about the room, sometimes walking, often disappearing mid-step, only to be heard chuntering in another room or materialising a few meters across. He heaved a table in front of her in one smooth movement. A minute later a large bronze bowl was placed on the table and soon a surplus of bottles and jars joined it. She closed her eyes, listening to the bustle of the Prince and drifting between sleeping and waking.

A voice beside her made her jump, her eyes snapping open.

"I know you prefer to heal with magic, but healing is not where my strengths lies, so I have gathered some potions and salves as well." Loki had sat next to her, half turned so he faced her. Loki's voice was lower now, more private and soothing.

He glanced at the table, Imera following suit. The bowl was now full of gently steaming water that had a slightly herbal smell, with a hint of a crisp, fruity aroma that she couldn't place. At the side, a muslin cloth, a smaller bowl of cold water and an empty bowl. For cleaning herself up, and to wring the water into, she supposed. It occurred to her that she hadn't seen herself in a looking glass yet. Thank Odin for small mercies.

Imera shuffled her shoes off, the bindings knotted together still. Her toes wriggled, feet flexed, ankles clacking ominously. Arms stretched ahead, digits clicking and her right shoulder clunking forward. Her shirt pulled at the drying scratches on her back, a nasty stinging making her pause.

Bracing herself, palms down on the seat beneath her, she sat up. Some other joint, deep in her hip, fell into place, the sound echoing harshly around the room making both occupants of the seat cringe. She damped the muslin, wringing out the excess and bringing it to cover her face. She took a deep breath, warm humid air filling her lungs. Apple, she noted somewhere in her subconscious. The fruity smell was fresh apple. Pressing circles slowly into her dirt-encrusted face, she felt a little better instantly.

She cleaned the cloth, dipping it into the hot water again. She moved to place it on her shoulder and neck, hoping to wet her shirt enough to remove it without too much pain. Loki stopped her hand, taking the cloth and pushing her gently round to lean on the side of the chaise long. Imera turned, lifting one leg and tucking it underneath herself, her foot in the bend of her knee. Resting her arms on the side and her head on her crossed arms, she was unsure of what to expect. She felt the padding beneath her shift, as if he had recoiled (he had, in fact; the shirt was ripped in places and blood seeped through in places) before it dipped again as he moved closer.

A hand on her shoulder steadied him, a trickle of lukewarm water giving her a seconds warning. She tensed unperceivably, breathing in through her nose swiftly as the hot cloth seared and then soothed her bleeding back. The pale prince worked steadily, only slowing when he reached her lower ribs that he was sure would be cracked. He paused only for a moment before placing his palm flat on the naked skin of her neck and focused a push of magic, joining the two together.

This type of magic needed both of them to work with each other, to form a bond. He would link her nervous system with his and so feel what she felt. She could, in turn, feel what he felt, if the magic was to flow that way.

The first dribble of magic rolled back up his fingers, after the preliminary defensive push of Imera's magic. He could never get used to this. It was like putting on a second skin, rough and spiked, heavy and tight and altogether _wrong._ Imera's body was not only female, but half Light Elf, half Asgardian. Her bones were lighter, her muscles more supple than he was used to.

He could feel old injuries, though he didn't know the stories behind them. The very way he held himself changed. He fitted a muscle memory that demanded a stiffer posture, despite the extra weight he felt about his chest. He looked down, knowing that there would be no change but, as always, surprised to see his own flat chest. Then the burning pain stretched across his back.

His ribs seemed to fold in, his breathing becoming restricted and awkward. A panic-soaked breath was scraped in by his lungs before he had a chance to rein it in. Nerves he didn't know existed, in places he normally ignored, screamed protests; in his neck, his shoulders, everywhere. His felt as if his body strained constantly to hold his head up.

And what agony echoed through his head! He believed it would not throb so much if all of Asgard engaged and fell the entire race of wintry Jotuns in his skull. His stomach pulsed, shocks of nausea slowly gaining ground in a battle to breach his puckered mouth.

It took all his will not to pull his hand away as if burned, to sever the connection, run like a child and throw up. He hadn't needed to do this in a while. Normally this sort of magic was used on wounded animal, unconscious people or young children. He had only chosen to invoke this magic because of his deep kinship with Imera. Also, he thought (not unkindly) she looked like she had been dragged behind a pair of horses.

He hauled another sharp breath into his body, expecting a tugging on his aching ribs. None came, of course. The pain was in rooted in Imera's body, not his. Only her movements would worsen it. She knew this, staying statue still, except to relax a little as she lost her feeling to Loki.

His body tried still to rebel. This sort of pain was different to getting injured yourself. A pain without reason or cause, no warning. The body did not take kindly to it. It couldn't heal, couldn't help in any way, instead residing in a begrudged parallel with the pain. He exhaled heavily through his nose, eyes closed.

He'd have to be careful about how he removed his hand. Done wrong and she could lose all feeling permanently, or have it all exploding through her weakened frame at once. He was sure she could withstand it, but unconvinced as to whether he could stomach watching it.

He held tight to her magic, allowing the swap to reverse slowly. Imera's brow twitched slightly and the tension that had fully left her body returned, limb by limb. The pain washed from his body to his, leaving him feeling fresher but exhausted. As his muscles truly became his own, he fell back into himself, losing control for a millisecond, nearly tipping off the chaise long. He regained his composure, closing his eyes, taking a minute or two to really feel his body.

Imera stretched a little, limbs flooding with feeling; every sensation stronger now she knew what is was to be deprived of it. The velvet crushed under her head and hands was both smooth and stiff. The room The stone floor was uneven, divided equally into well-worn and craggy patches, cold and soothing on the heated sole of her foot.

The wet shirt had cooled, clinging to her every curve. A couple of ribs arched out of material unevenly stemming from her spine, a hint of which was peeking through holes in the shirt. The cold sank, deep, deep, deeper, pulling at her core, an unwanted, too tight embrace of her bones. It felt good on her wounds at first, but soon she was fighting shivers. To hold her body was easy, but her jaw was not so subservient and her teeth rattled and clattered, loud in the quiet room and louder in her head.

Loki was pulled from his thoughts by the sound, head jerking up. He shook himself, and placing one warm hand on her shoulder, extended the other toward a huge fireplace that could easily house a four poster bed. A flare of light came hand in hand with a wave of heat that had Imera shivering afresh.

The warmth sank into her skin, as the heat had the room, slowly, burning. A good burn. Her eyes felt dry, her eyelids swollen. She had no idea that they had closed, she just allowed herself to listen to Loki.

"I'm not going to heal your head, because that's very delicate and while I'm happy to mess with the minds of others in jest, I'll not claim any skill In tidying a mind. Your back would do well with salves, some healing stone ground in, a charm to speed the effects…"

He paused, and when he spoke again he was less clinical, his usual jesting tone a comfort. "I can heal your ribs in a blink. One gets countless opportunities to heal ribs when growing up with Thor."

A sliver of bitterness undercut that statement, making Imera open her eyes, but his next statement was that Imera wasn't sure if she hadn't just imagined it all.

"Your neck needs merely a massage and I've been assured by many a maiden that I have magic hands, so…" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Imera pulled the heavy feather cushion out from in front of her stomach and threw it, hitting him squared in the face with a rewarding thump, a quiet clash of his shining teeth and a muffled "Oomph!"

"You absolute pig! I know full well you've not slept with more than 3 'maidens'! In this form anyway, I thought not to count frolics in the copse with horses of unknown strength and size, even if little-" here Loki (who had started to flush a slight pink high on his cheekbone) forced a cough, cleared his throat and looked at her pointedly. "…big Slepnir was the outcome. You've laid with that half giantess several times, thus Hela, Fenrir and Jormungard, Sigyn once, maybe twice before she got involved with that awful business with the dwarves and moved to Svartalfheim. Who else? Oh yes, Lindder, Valkyrie of the North. My word you know how to pick them, don't you? My point being, all your conquests are log distant memories and I would love you to stop boasting and hurry up, lest I drift into an unending sleep and don't rise until Ragnarok!"

Silence fell.

Loki's tongue edged out without his knowledge, wetting his lips and dragging them tightly into his mouth, leaving a thin line. He slowly released his bloodless lips, a flow of blood reddening them suddenly. He'd taken a step back some time during Imera's onslaught and his head tilted forward, listening, his face unreadable. Halfway between kicked puppy and enraged beast, he managed to look neither irate nor injured, but very worrying still.

Imera wasn't sure what Loki was thinking. She hadn't meant to be so dismissive and blunt, thinking so selfishly. She opened her mouth to drown him in apologies but he spoke first.

"You little word-weaver! Your very tongue wounds me, most grievously! I have taught you _well!_"

Imera let out a puff of relief through her nose, glad that he wasn't angry at her.

He moved to stand over the table, hand scanning half a foot above the pots and flasks before plucking a pale yellow salve with minute flecks of blue healing stone stirred in. He turned to face her and stopped.

"Ah. You will have to remove you shirt. I-"

"Bet you say that to all the women of Asgard, silver-tongue"

"And because of it they kneel at my feet."

"Crying; 'Mercy, mercy, oh that I had not been wooed by such a rogue!'"

"If I didn't know you better I would say you were jealous that you haven't had my affections."

"Lucky for you that you know me better, Any man who would say such a thing is sure looking for some spark between the two, some affection. As I am in possession of no such affection (so say you) thus I can return, with passion in my heart, no such affection."

She glanced at him, checking they were still just having friendly banter. His eyes had that childish glitter and she knew her words had not harmed him. _Ha! __**My**__ words wound the God of Lies? What a thought!_

"Now enough. I'm wearing wrappings underneath my shirt, albeit minimal wrappings. It gets too hot and uncomfortable under armour, and keeps slipping if I have full wrapping. I'm happy to remove my shirt, if you lock the door and help me out a little."

Loki flicked a hand in the direction of the door and a series of clicks told her the door was locked. He walked to the chaise long, half kneeling and half standing. He put a hand on her lower back, looking serious suddenly.

"I think it better to heal your ribs before removing your shirt. It'll save you some discomfort at least."

A creaking, like old wood, sounded beneath Imera's shirt. The skin around her eyes tightened, cutting off tears in their tracks. She dare not breathe. Like the bone-deep cold of a winter's day, a fire was screaming in her core and she wanted to yell. More than a stream, a flood of consciousness filled her head; stop, stop, wait, no, must hold out, must hold on a little longer, never again, why, oh why of all the things she could suffer why this and-

It was over.

She slumped. The breath left her slowly, hissing.

"Better?"

"_I hate you_."

"Hmm. Well you may hate me more before this is over, friend."

Together they peeled her shirt off. It was still quite damp, thankfully, and so didn't catch any scrapes. Imera sat in her wrappings, slightly abashed. Neither of the pair attempted eye contact, Loki turning away to rattle the salves in embarrassment.

When he turned back he was surprised to Imera looking at him. Their eye sights fell against each other and became tangled. Neither looked away, utterly unsure, holding their breath.

Until they snorted in unison, laughing freely at the awkward atmosphere they had created from nothing.

Imera supervised the choices of salve, constantly berating Loki for his input and nudging him when he didn't allow the balm to warm a little before applying it to her back. Soon every cut was washed and treated. Imera realised that she had a dilemma. She couldn't put her shirt on with the salve unless her back was covered.

Easily solved, she summoned bandages and bewitched them to bind around her, while Loki tidied. However her shirt was in no state to be worn.

"I'm stealing this shirt, Loki!"

"What shirt?! Stealing from royalty is very much frowned upon, I believe."

"Oh, well thank goodness it's only _frowned upon! _I'm going to my rooms, for some rest, if you don't mind. Thank you Loki."

"You are quite welcome, lovely Ime-ahh. She's gone."

Loki sighed, sending the remaining bottles to their places with a wave of his hand while pinching the bridge of his nose. He walked back to the chaise long and sat, staring into the fire that crackled still.

His mind wondered quickly, as it often did. He thought of Thor's coronation in a few days. Thor was not ready, by any stretch of the imagination. Loki doubted he ever would be.

That is not to say that Loki thought he could take his place. To rule Asgard would mean to do just that. To stick to the rules. Loki knew the rules and laws better than perhaps Odin himself, but it was not in his nature to abide by them. The reason he knew the rules so well was so he could flout them just the right amount to be trusted still.

He had several ideas to change the outcome of Thor's day. The All-father would not listen to him, it would seem he was jealous or had an ulterior motive. He would have to call on people known to defy Odin and succeed.

His mind was made. He stood, armour shimmering into existence as he walked toward the fire, disappearing in a wisp of icy blue smoke only inches in front of it.

The empty room was silent a few seconds before a faint whispering stole in, a red note unfurled in the air, reading;

Thank you for healing me Loki, (though the damage was your fault).  
I'd love to spar tomorrow, but I would also enjoy working in the gardens with you.  
Meet by the lake at 2?  
Imera

The note, unread, burned in phantom flames. A red butterfly immerged from the fading flames, searching for its intended.

In the empty room, the butterfly withered and died.


End file.
